


Walk Free

by unassumingvenusaur



Series: SRCU (Sahri Rhoshaan Cinematic Universe) [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ala Mhigan WoL, Ala Mhigo (Final Fantasy XIV), Canon Compliant, Coming of Age, Description of the Calamity, Family Feels, Fantastic Racism, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gridania (Final Fantasy XIV), Hurt/Comfort, Keeper of the Moon Miqo'te (Final Fantasy XIV), Leaving Home, Letters, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Nightmares, Past Character Death, Pre-Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn, Tempering (Final Fantasy XIV), Tried to do some 1.0 Research for this, Xenophobia, for chapter 1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29988612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unassumingvenusaur/pseuds/unassumingvenusaur
Summary: The nights before and after Sahri sets out for Gridania's Adventurers' Guild, spent with two very different sorts of mothers.
Relationships: Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV) & Original Character(s)
Series: SRCU (Sahri Rhoshaan Cinematic Universe) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2058933
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Walk Free

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here I am--starting to fill in Sahri's story from ARR to the present, bit by bit. This is very much a long-term project that may stop and start at any time for other stuff. The fics will mostly be in the vein of the Shadowbringers ones I have done: not a retelling of canon scenes, but scenes and character moments slipped in between. There will be at times some small canon divergence for side stories such as job/class quests (glances at Foulques and Leih Aliapoh) and some minor tweaks of the canon timeline, but the narrative is basically the same. 
> 
> Hopefully people enjoy what I do with my WoL Sahri, here and to come! She is several years younger here than in my ShB fics due to the timeline I'm going with. Unlike how the game treats the WoL, she's already rather woven into Gridanian society, far from a stranger to it. Might make a more in-depth bio for her at some point...we'll see. But you should be able to get the gist of what you need just from this! As always, feedback is appreciated.
> 
> The name of the Warrior of Light in this fic is Sahri Rhoshaan.

_A mournful wail tears the heavens asunder._

_The Land shakes, toppling its dwellers from their feet--and the towering treescape of the Black Shroud’s eastern edge soon follows. In an instant, the sky above rids itself of the darkness that characterized it in the weeks and months leading to this inevitable day, Dalamud subsuming every inch of the horizon in its bloody veil. Flame streaking across the crimson firmament turns ever downwards, assaulting the Land with a bevy of explosions. It uproots tree after tree and feeds them into the great, ravenous blaze consuming the Shroud’s greenery, its every onze of life. The heavens are soon blotted out once more by a suffocating black smoke--overwhelming in its scent of charred flesh. Of life become kindling for the encroaching blaze._

_The eastern reaches of the Black Shroud are far more sparsely populated than the city-state at the nation’s heart, and yet alongside the smoke, the air is thick with screams, groans, humanity and forest wildlife humbled to the same helplessness in the face of divine wrath. The forest’s myriad denizens run, run wherever their feet may take them. Though the Wood Wailers and Gridanian officials bark orders through the chaos, none truly know their destination, for where could one run as their very home collapsed down atop them? The Land gives out beneath their feet with every new impact, crevasses torn open, stone and crystal jutting from the ground without warning, impaling some and sending others tumbling to grisly ends._

_Among the frantic clambering, the cries of men, women and children in their lives’ final moments, a figure walks with disconcerting ease. A young miqo’te woman, making her way ever so slowly through the destruction, taking in through her jade eyes this memory of a dying world’s end. A memory she’d witnessed a thousand times. Fire falling from the sky, the world ablaze, her people screaming, dying, burning...it felt far closer to a thousand *thousand* times that the young woman had beheld such. Most of the faces she caught dashing past her, the young woman knew would not live to see the end of the day. Dalamud did not discriminate. Dalamud had no concept of mercy. Dalamud was death itself, painting the land with the same blood that flooded the skies. And yet, the woman walked ever forward, knowing this path of recollection could not truly bring her harm. However scorching the flames’ heat, however heavy the stench of death. No, these ghosts had long since passed, now only residing in her mind. Refusing to grant her peace…_

_“Lady Lukah!”_

_A familiar voice instantly draws the young woman’s attention. Through the flames, she sees them--a pair of miqo’te. One a woman grown, collapsed to her knees and clutching her head in pain, the other a teen girl tugging at her arm._

_“Lady Lukah,” the girl repeats, panicked. “Please, Lady Lukah! We need...We need to keep moving…” She fumbles for her twig of a conjurer’s wand, managing enough concentration to cast a light healing spell on the kneeling woman--Lukah. It was to no avail, as what ailed Lukah was not a physical affliction..._

_“The Elementals, Sahri, they--!” Lukah cries out in pain. Her eyes are screwed shut, face contorted in agony. “The Elementals, they are--they are dying! O Matron, have mercy...The Elementals, they are crying for our help...Yet one by one, their voices--they are being snuffed out…! Oh, Sahri…”_

_The girl, Sahri, wrinkles her nose, eyes widening in increasing horror. She possessed not the power to hear the Elementals as her guardian did, but knew many tales of their ferocious might. If even they fell under Dalamud’s destruction…_

_The watching woman sees the very moment that young Sahri’s resolve redoubles, expression growing firm._

_“Lady Lukah, we can’t help them if we...if we stay here to d-die!” Sahri says, words stumbling through her own fear. “Please. Please, we need to--”_

_She is cut off by a new onslaught of blasts rocketing through the blanket of smoke, knocking her to her side. The land sharply rises beneath the two in a slant, sending them both rolling downwards to a new resting point. Just as Sahri begins to pick herself up from the shock, there is a sharp crack, and a shadow rapidly grows above the two. Yet another of the Shroud’s trees was toppling over--directly above the miqo’te pair._

_Sahri shrieks, sound piercing through the burning woods--and through the fog of Lukah’s mind. The girl’s guardian looks up, and in seconds her wand is in hand, hugging Sahri to her side and using her conjury to erect a thick wall of stone. The tree falls against the shield of earth, resting precariously above them. With another incantation and flick of her wand, Lukah summons razor-sharp gales, slicing at the tree until the trunk splinters, shattered pieces raining to the ground around them. Once it settles, Lukah scans herself and her ward for injuries and stands to her feet, placing her wand back on her waist. She reaches a hand down and helps the trembling girl to her feet._

_“Forgive my lapse, little moon,” Lukah tells her softly. The girl but nods, eyes wet with tears. Her guardian scans their surroundings, the determination on Lukah’s face rapidly fading. “...I know not where we can flee, Sahri,” she admits. “Where could we possibly be safe…?” The woman trails off, pondering their next course of action._

_“The...the lake!” Sahri offers._

_“Springripple?” Lukah frowns. “Sahri, that is far too close to--”_

_“The imperials won’t care! They’ll all be in the Castrum!” Sahri preemptively counters, already pulling Lukah along in a sprint. “The water will protect us from the flames!”_

_Lukah’s frown deepens, but for lack of a better idea, she nods, committing to the sprint in earnest. The woman serving as observer and record-keeper saunters after them, already knowing what they would find at their destination. She trails the ghosts as they make their way through what was then known as Larkscall, never falling behind despite her languid pace. Such was the nature of this recollection. What she beheld was all that existed. That included the wall of steel and cermet growing on the horizon with the three’s every step. Baelsar’s Wall...That which served as the border between Gridanian and imperial territory. Which separated Sahri and Lukah from the land that birthed them. Even in the midst of ruin, it stood tall, nigh implacable._

_However, it was not the wall that brought Sahri and Lukah’s sprint to a screeching halt._

_“...What?” Sahri’s mouth falls agape as the two cross into a new clearing. The difficulty of breathing in such dense smoke has her panting. “Where...where is…?” The girl darts her gaze around, looking for something, any sign of what she sought amongst the fallen trees and upturned land._

_“Gods be good…” Lukah gasps, dread realization sinking into them both. There was no longer a Springripple Lake. That massive body of water, a fondly remembered childhood playplace of Sahri’s...wholly wiped from the map by Dalamud’s onslaught. Sahri releases Lukah’s arm and falls to the quaking ground, landing on her hands and knees._

_“...We’re going to die,” the teen girl states, tone flat. “Aren’t we, Lady Lukah?”_

_The onlooking woman pivots, tears welling in her eyes. That was about all of this scene she was able to stomach. The worst day of Sahri and Lukah’s lives had hardly begun--a day they would both live to see the end of, for weal or for woe. How tired the woman was of reliving this day. She understood not why her mind subjected her to these stifling flames, over and over in an unending cycle. When she puts some distance between herself and the ghosts she’d been following, the miqo’te sighs, coming to a stop. She turns her gaze towards the sky. Still did it streak with flame, sending a sorrowful ache resonating in her heart’s deepest reaches. What a cruel joke this all was…_

_“_ **_My child._ ** _”_

_The woman jumps at the otherworldly voice unmistakably addressed at *her.* She glances about, eyes locking on an anomalous sight--a small glowing ball of orange light, almost the appearance of a miniature sun. A wave of dizziness surges through her body, and she clutches her head in her hand. What--what was this?_

_“_ **_Hear…_ ** _”_

_*Something* pulses alive inside her at the word, the world beginning to spin--the woman struggling to to stay firm on her feet. Her surroundings’ very existence grows unstable, grass and shrubbery flashing to stone, the trees still standing taking on a bizarre black hue. As she attempts to process this sudden change, a different voice floats into her ear in the faintest whisper. One far more comforting._

_“...ahri…”_

_“_ **_Feel._ ** _”_

_The authoritative voice demands her attention once more, her heart commanding her to look back towards the miniature sun. The woman falls to a knee, senses overwhelmed._

_“Sahri. Sahri.”_

_And yet, the gentle voice coaxes her to ease once more, drawing her presence further and further from this wretched scene._

_“_ **_Thi--_ ** _”_

_“Sahri, wake up.”_

………………………………………………………………………………………..

Sahri sits up with a start, gasping as she returns to the realm of the wakeful. She rubs at her bleary eyes, body stiflingly warm. There she sat before a desk in the humble dwelling she and Lukah called home, five years removed from the events of her nightmare. Now a woman grown. The room around her is dim, only lit by the flickering light of a candle she did not remember setting. Her impromptu nap had lasted at least an hour, then…

A hand comes to rest upon the young woman’s back.

“I’d hoped you would be busy at work preparing for your journey on the morrow, yet here I find you snoring, face planted on the desk. Really, Sahri?”

She looks over her shoulder to find Lukah wearing a teasing smile, already dressed down from her typical Hearer’s attire. Sahri sleepily smiles in turn and stands, giving the older woman a small hug. 

“Welcome back, Lady Lukah,” she greets her. “I trust your visit to Gridania went well?”

“It was uneventful more than anything, which I suppose makes it a success,” the woman confirms. “I managed to make the time to call on Miounne and Master E-Sumi-Yan--they are both excited to see you again, in their own ways. It has been far too long for each.” Her tone turns wry. “Though I hope, as my former mentor becomes yours, that you will afford him a title with a tad more respect than ‘Master Sumi.’” 

Sahri snorts, rolling her eyes. “I was a babe then, Lady Lukah. You can be certain I will not--” She cuts herself off when Lukah suddenly moves to take gentle hold of her chin. The woman tilts her head to one side, then another, scrutinizing her. “Erm, is something the matter?”

“Your face is flushed,” Lukah explains. “And you seem...off-balance. Are you feeling quite well?”

Sahri sighs, guiding Lukah’s hand from her face. “I am well,” she insists, averting her eyes. “I...simply had that tired old dream again. That is all.” She could leave out the detail about the haunting voice that had inserted itself this time around.

“About the Calamity? Again?” Lukah frowns, folding her arms. “I am concerned, Sahri. How many times does that make this week, that I have found you passed out in the middle of the day…? And always, with that dream. Perhaps you should consider postponing your enlistment in the Adventurer’s Guild by a few days. Or reconsider...”

“You are kind, Lady Lukah,” Sahri cuts her off, taking the woman’s hand in hers. Its softness had withstood the test of decades, owing to the woman’s chosen profession. “But I _am_ going through with this. Remember the Elder Seedseer’s call. I can do far more as an adventurer to help the Shroud and its people heal from the Calamity than I can by staying here. Hearing is your domain--it is long past time to carve my own.” She squeezes Lukah’s hand, giving her a reassuring smile--far beyond what Sahri truly felt. “Do not worry for my health. I have been so excited as to work myself to exhaustion. That is all.”

Lukah lets out a wistful sigh. “That does sound like you,” she agrees, relenting. “You must remember to take time for yourself, Sahri. Especially given what your life is about to become. You will look into Gridania’s artisan guilds alongside your adventuring, won’t you? I know you would enjoy learning from them.”

“I will,” Sahri promises. “The Oak Atrium will be one of my first stops once I settle in. I imagine whittling away at a piece of wood after a long day of traveling would be quite restful…”

“For you, it might be,” Lukah says with a laugh. “A shame Eorzea’s foremost culinarians are all gathered in Limsa Lominsa, instead. ”

Sahri shakes her head. “Oh, I wouldn’t need a guild for that, anyhow. What you’ve taught me is more than enough.”

Lukah quirks a skeptical eyebrow. “I fear your confidence in me is overinvested. I am hardly on par with a chef at the Bismarck…” She ruffles Sahri’s hair affectionately, chancing a glance at the desk by which they stood. A warm smile blooms on the woman’s face. “Ah...Reading these old letters again, were you?”

That _was_ what she’d been doing, wasn’t it? Sahri looks upon the stack of letters Lukah gently spread across the desk. Some have their edges charred, others are stained with earth, and all show signs of their more than two decades of age...Yet mercifully, all had survived the Calamity more or less legible. These intimate missives from a pair of Ala Mhigan Resistance fighters to the infant daughter they had safely stashed away in Gridania. 

“I...was pondering taking them with me,” she informs the smiling woman. They were about all Sahri had of her parents, she leaves unsaid. Ah, despite the weighty memories associated with these sheets of parchment, she cannot resist a smile herself. The words inscribed on these pages oozed personality, oozed _life_ , even in their very penmanship. 

The letters from her father were written in an impeccable cursive script, one apparently drilled into him by the strict, imperial-mandated education to which their conquered military conscripts were subjected. His thoughtfulness was ensconced in his every stroke of the pen. Her eyes wander to scan them…

“ _I often find myself thinking of home, these days, as we push closer to the Lochs. The home I left behind on Ilsabard, that is, before I smuggled myself across the Sea of Jade. I hope you do not mind if I commit a few of the details to writing, before I forget them. Perhaps you would enjoy learning about it, as well._ ”

“ _This may seem quaint to you, Sahri, but I have been sketching some of the landscapes and people we’ve encountered as we’ve liberated more villages. I may have been trained as a soldier, but I admittedly always had more of an affinity for the arts. I’ve enclosed the sketches with this message, though I cannot claim they come close to capturing Gyr Abania’s beauty. I could not have stumbled my way across a finer adopted home."_

_“Commander Hext introduced me to his little ones today, Yda and Lyse. Charming girls, the both of them. If only you could meet. I’ve sent my sketches of their likenesses, as usual, though...I have to confess. In their faces, and those of every smiling child I’ve encountered since this war began...I can only see yours, from the short-lived days I could hold you. I miss you terribly, Sahri. I pray our reunion comes long before you are able to read any of these sentimental epistles…”_

...If only it could have come at all.

Her mother’s writing, by contrast, was far more of a scrawl--she dedicated most of her attention to honing her martial prowess, after all. And yet, she possessed an eloquence all of her own, one she’d developed in her long years of meditation at the Temple of the Fist.

_“The name you carry, Rhoshaan, is a proud one, Sahri. One borne by remarkable Keeper woman after remarkable Keeper woman since the hands of time first began to turn--or so my mother told me, and hers before her. Do not take that legacy as a burden upon you, but instead encouragement. Confidence you will prove yourself every bit as remarkable as they.”_

_“Drawing further eastwards into Gyr Abania, the land becomes dry, vegetation sparser. It is a testament to the integrity of our countrymen that Ala Mhigo was founded on such soil. Still, I will never be as at ease here as I am in the woodlands of my birth, surrounded by leaves of stunning green and crimson. In that sense, I am grateful you may stay with Lukah among the trees of the Shroud, even if I will never understand her fascination with Gridanian culture.”_

_“I was skeptical when Tezih’to first proposed we write these letters to you. What use does a swaddling babe have for pen strokes inscribed in ink? He has the strangest, most fanciful ideas at times...but for this one, I am glad. Writing you has tempered the deep ache in my heart. The ache of being separated from my one and only child so soon after her birth is near unbearable. Please know I would never have parted with you had Theodoric not forced my hand the day he slaughtered my brothers and sisters in the Fist. No doubt many of them left important words unsaid. I will not repeat their mistakes. I love you, my dear Sahri. That will be true so long as the sun sets red.”_

Even should death claim her. The fact Sahri could feel that love through her mother’s words even now said wonders about the truth of its depth. At least, that’s what she liked to think, anyhow. Perhaps it was childish to place such weight on the written word of a man and woman she never truly knew. And yet, how could she not…?

A small laugh draws Sahri’s attention. Lukah is positively beaming at her.

“Did you hear what I said, little moon?” the woman asks. Sahri scratches her cheek shyly. 

“Oh...I didn’t, actually,” she admits. Lukah shakes her head in a fond exasperation. 

“I told you it would be a lovely idea to bring these letters along, so long as you take proper care of them. They do rightfully belong to you, after all.” A shimmer of nostalgia crosses the woman’s eyes. “Your mother was prone to becoming wrapped up in that mind of hers, as well. Rijuh was the quiet kind, always speaking with deep thought behind her words. You remind me a bit of her, in that sense.” Sahri’s cheeks flush at the comparison, her heart squeezing in ways both painful and joyous. “Though in this case, I worry it worked to your disadvantage. Did you make _any_ progress in gathering your things while I was gone?”

“I--I did!” Sahri squeaks with some indignance, not at all feeling the thoughtfulness Lukah ascribed to her. “I’m nearly finished, since I hoped to be able to rest tonight. I have... _most_ of my personal items, my supplies and gear…”

“Your gear?” Lukah’s eyebrows rise in tandem. “Oh, I had nearly forgotten. I procured a gift for you in Gridania.” Lukah gives the woman a pat on the back and walks towards the entrance to their abode, and an excited smile breaks out across Sahri’s face

“A gift? It doesn’t happen to hail from Wineport, does it? Or elsewhere in La Noscea?”

“Not that sort of gift,” Lukah corrects with a small chuckle. “You will be far better served by a clear mind than an inebriated one, tonight.” 

Sahri lets out a quiet sigh, though her disappointment fades when the other woman walks back into the room. She gently clutches a beautifully sculpted cane, wood of a golden hue. A domed piece of brass--a bell?--is tied in the arch of the crook by an eye-catching black and red ribbon. Lukah holds it out to her, and Sahri tentatively takes it in her hands. She is quiet, her mouth ajar in disbelief. 

“I pulled a few strings with my contacts in the Twin Adders,” the Hearer explains with some pride. “It is not of particularly special make, but it is wielded by the Company’s rank-and-file conjurers. Sturdy, durable, reliable--it makes far superior adventurer’s equipment than the twig you used as a child.”

“That it does,” Sahri agrees, finally breaking her silence. “This is...such fine quality. Are you certain you do not want to keep it for yourself? I could take your wand, instead.”

Lukah shakes her head emphatically. “No, no. This is for _you_ , Sahri. I am perfectly satisfied with what I currently have. Allow me to spoil you how I can.”

A smile rises unbidden to Sahri’s lips. “Thank you, Lady Lukah. I will cherish it.”

“Do not cherish it overmuch,” Lukah cautions. “I am certain you will find better before long. But it is a start, if nothing else.” The woman taps her chin. “Hmm...Though that leaves the question of what you will be wearing…”

“Oh, I already have that in hand,” Sahri assures her. She carefully sets aside her new cane and walks in the direction of her bed. “I happened across a merchant who was selling traditional miqo’te traveling attire,” she explains, taking the top and skirt in hand. “Apparently many adventurers opt for such clothing, and I quite like the col...or…….”

Her voice trails off when she beholds Lukah’s face--set with a deep frown. 

“Traditional traveling attire?” the woman asks, clear skepticism in her tone. She closes the distance between her and Sahri, testing holding up both pieces against the girl’s body. Her brow only furrows deeper. “Sahri...You’ll be exposing far more skin than you will cover.

“I...thought it might give me maneuverability?” she attempts to justify, heat quickly rising in her face. 

“If you wish to wear this to woo an admirer, then by all means, I will not stop you. But to do the work of an adventurer?” Lukah tugs the garments from Sahri’s hands, the young woman offering little protest. “I can only imagine the types of rashes you will develop, scraping around the forsaken edges of Nophica’s bounty. And may the Elementals keep you from suffering a single injury!” 

“...Perhaps I should have thought longer about my purchase,” Sahri admits. Lukah sighs.

“I know you better than to call you naive, but I do hope you will strive to be less credulous in the future, darling.” She places a hand atop Sahri’s head, falling short of masking her concern. “There are many who would take advantage of a young woman such as you, with dreams and ambitions. The Coerulclaws snatch up vulnerable Keeper girls by the dozens. And gods forbid the wrong person discover your heritage…”

Sahri’s every muscle grows tense at the suggestion. “They won’t,” she hastily replies before Lukah can continue. “I’m aiming to be an adventurer, not a bandit. And I will not be so careless with such vital information.” 

“Now, now. There is no need to pout at me so.” Lukah lightly massages her scalp in apology, earning a soft purr. “I simply worry for you. That is all. But I shall place my trust in you. Your mother would not wish for me to coddle you, anyhow.” The woman withdraws her hand, taking a few steps back. “I believe I have a solution to the problem of your attire--Wait here for me, won’t you?”

She smiles at Sahri’s nod, turning to leave the room. Sahri sighs, folding her arms. She still stewed over their exchange, if she was being honest with herself. She...she was no fool. She’d accompanied Lukah on more than enough of her duties as a Hearer to know how Gridanians regarded Ala Mhigo’s diaspora. Lukah was the only woman she knew of any authority who would so much as acknowledge the nation’s refugees, let alone care for them. Who would travel far outside her official domain, to all corners of the Shroud, for them. With the voice of the Elementals on her side, none could exactly turn her away, but Sahri was well aware any favorable treatment ended the moment Lukah turned her back. How many times had she watched the woman give those dying of neglect, of hunger their final rites? Far too many for even a child not to have learned the lesson within. To not have shame twisted deep into her heart. No, this was one secret she must keep close to her chest. She would be able to help no one, otherwise. Not all could buy their way to respect as had the Bull of Ala Mhigo...

“Here you are, Sahri.” Lukah strides into the room carrying a bundle of clothing in one arm and a pair of boots in the other. “I dug out my own gear from my time training under Master E-Sumi-Yan. Some, I brought from home back in the East End, but the robe is undoubtedly the crown jewel. A Vanya robe, the same variety the Master himself wears.” The woman sets the other items down and holds the garment aloft for Sahri to admire. Sahri reaches to run her hand across the grayish-green fabric.

“It...is so finely made!” Sahri remarks in surprise. “Thank you...I will certainly look the part of a conjurer, wearing this.”

“We can take the night to dye it a colour more to your liking,” Lukah adds, correctly predicting Sahri’s next words. The girl breaks into a smile.

“I think a light pink might suit it.”

“Pink! I should have known. You will wear it fetchingly.” Lukah folds the robe once more, setting it to the far side of the desk. There...is a strange tension about her, Sahri cannot help but notice. She is staring blankly in some odd direction, drumming her fingers against the tabletop. Eventually, she sighs, meeting Sahri’s eyes.

“I...do have another item I wish to give you,” the woman tells her.

“Still more?” Sahri laughs to herself. “Lady Lukah, you have gifted me far too much today, as it is.”

Lukah gives her a weak smile. “You may decide for yourself how much of a ‘gift’ it is.” The woman rummages through the pockets of her robe, producing a folded piece of parchment with an official-looking seal. 

“A...A letter?” Sahri asks, taking it in hand. She unfolds the document, instantly recognizing the handwriting belonged to neither of her parents. Very formal, yet the ink was smeared, as if hastily written. 

“I was not attempting to keep this from you,” Lukah explains, “but I did not believe it would exactly serve to help you, either. Still...If you are to leave and make your mark on the world, it is high time I at least offered it.” Sahri feels a strum of anxiety at Lukah’s solemn expression. “This...was addressed to me from the Ala Mhigan Resistance, some twenty years ago. What was left of it, at the very least. It concerns...the fate of your parents.”

“My--?” Sahri’s eyes fly wide, eyes instantly set to reading. 

………………………………………………………………………….

_Dear Ms. Muhral,_

_It is with a heavy heart that this letter finds its way into your hands. We regret to inform you of the loss of two of our finest resistance fighters--Rijuh Rhoshaan and Tezih’to Jayuun. As their closest known contact, you are the first to be informed. We offer you our deepest condolences and humbly request your assistance in passing on the news to the couple’s other loved ones--we have not the resources to spare in tracking them down._

_There was hardly a pair so fondly regarded amongst our comrades as Rijuh and Tezih’to. Few embodied the passion and grit of Gyr Abania as they. The two devoted their hearts and souls to freeing our nation from Theodoric’s wretched tyranny, and continued to when Garlemald sought to lay its own opportunistic claim. Even after we lost Commander Hext, the two refused to falter, proving themselves some of the Resistance’s most stalwart supporters. To the very last, they fought, and while they may no longer stand alongside us, they will never be forgotten. Neither by the Resistance nor those they love. We pray Rijuh finds rest alongside her comrades in the Fist, and Tezih’to beside his wife._

_You deserve to know the circumstances in which they gave their lives for Ala Mhigo’s freedom. The Black Wolf, imperial Legatus Gaius van Baelsar, was conducting a survey of Gyr Abania’s forested borderlands with the Shroud. Our intelligence suggested that he plans to build a new Castrum on the land to serve as a springboard to launch a full-scale invasion of Eorzea. Accompanied only by a small entourage, we thought the man vulnerable--saw an opportunity to cut off the head of the Garlean snake and stop the invasion in its tracks. And so, we coordinated a surprise assault._

_While all involved put up a valiant fight, and our efforts led to the deaths of more than a dozen Garlean troops, van Baeslar proved too much for our meager numbers. In the end, both Tezih’to and Rijuh fell to the blade of the Black Wolf himself. There is no greater enemy to Ala Mhigo, and thus no death more honorable than one in service of defeating him. He may have eluded us on this day, but he cannot escape Rhalgr’s flame. Ala Mhigo will come for him. His slaughter of our people paid in full._

_Circumstances seem dire, but no matter what may come to pass, Gyr Abania’s spirit cannot be defeated. The Resistance Commander Hext began will not die, not until the day the last Garlean flees our soil. You have proved an ever faithful contact on the other side of the border, Ms. Muhral, and we would be deeply grateful for our continued assistance. We will be in touch in the weeks and months to come. Remember always these words._

_Though storms of blood approach ye,_

_Hells open, Heavens weep,_

_No goodly soul need ever fear_

_The measure of His Reach._

_With deepest sympathy,_

_Conrad Kemp_

…………………………………………………………………………….

The remainder of the words grow blurry, tears blotting Sahri’s vision, the hands holding the letter quaking. 

“The...The Black Wolf…” For fear that she might tear the parchment in two, Sahri sets the missive aside. Her hands ball into fists, and she jerks her head to meet Lukah’s concerned gaze. “It was...the Black Wolf who killed them?” 

Lukah gives her a silent nod, and Sahri grits her teeth. Rage wells within her, white-hot, scalding. For one’s parents to die in war was a tragedy. To know the name of the man who struck them down...that felt terrifyingly personal. Let alone the very man who spearheaded the invasion in the first place. Gaius van Baelsar...how many thousands of deaths was he responsible for? He was the reason her childhood memories were not of the crimson leaves her mother described, but instead a hideous wall scarring the land. A wall that bore his own name. And now, she knew, he was very personally responsible for depriving her of a life having a family, her mother and father, brothers and sisters…!

“Baelsar,” she says aloud, name leaving the distinct aftertaste of ash. Her stomach churned in a most unfamiliar way. Her knuckles lose all pigment as she digs her nails into her palms. Her blood pounded in her ears, tear-masked vision fading to an image of that wall. That damnable wall. Baelsar...Gaius van Baelsar. Gaius van Baelsar. Never...Never in her life has Sahri felt this. She-- She wanted to-- She wanted to--

“Please, Sahri.” Soft hands encircle her fists, rubbing soothing patterns into Sahri’s skin with their thumbs. “I know how you feel. I truly do. But please--try to stay your heart.” 

Sahri takes a breath, Lukah’s voice anchoring her, drawing her eyes open once more. Beautiful eyes of amber meet them--wide in sympathy. Deep in their love. 

“He...he killed them,” Sahri whispers to the open air.

“He did,” Lukah responds, easing Sahri’s fists back to open hands. “But a life lived consumed in hatred is no life at all, little moon. If you ran off and threw your life at the nearest Garlean in sight, what would that accomplish? Is that how you would choose to honour the life your parents bought with their own?” Sahri blinks, pulse easing. Lukah smiles at her, knowing her words were not in vain, eyes narrowing in relief. 

“That murderer will see justice, and Gyr Abania its independence. Of both those facts, I am as certain as the Resistance was those decades ago--as it continues to be today. Honour your parents by living to see that.” The woman pulls Sahri closer, pressing a light kiss to her fingers. “Perhaps you may even play a part in that, large or small. But not by throwing your life away in fantasies of revenge. Promise me you will not, Sahri.” 

In no world could Sahri deny her. Not as she looked upon her so. 

“...I won’t. I swear it.” Sahri entwines her fingers with Lukah’s, a fond squeezing in her chest. “I will not forget what they gave for me. ...Nor what you have.” 

The woman’s smile grows vibrant. “Thank you, sweet girl. That means more than you can know.” She pauses, a ponderous light flickering across her eyes...and reaches for her hand, taking off the ring she wears. Before Sahri can react, Lukah slides it onto the girl’s right ring finger. She stares at it, stunned. She’d seen Lukah wear it for so many years that her mind has difficulty processing the two can be separated.

“...What?” Sahri asks lamely. It is a simple ring, made of a silvery metal. Still warm from Lukah’s skin. Attached to the band is a jagged, zig-zagging shape. Lukah traces it with her finger.

“It is meant to evoke a lightning bolt,” the woman explains, “in reference to Rhalgr’s domain over the element. I was around your age, preparing to set out for Gridania, when Rijuh gave it to me. She told me--” Lukah chuckles to herself. “Well, more commanded me to never forget my home. As you take your own steps towards the Twelveswood’s heart, I would ask the same.”

There is...a finality to Lukah’s tone that wedges itself into Sahri’s heart. She feels a tightening in her throat.

“While you are out in the world, changing lives--or culling the local squirrel population, as it may be--do remember to visit this aging woman from time to time. Won’t you?” Lukah cups the girl’s cheek. “You will always have a home here, Sahri. Always.”

The young woman slowly turns her gaze up from the ring to the woman smiling upon her. Her amber eyes, brimming with love, never seemed more noticeably framed by the wrinkles she had built up over the years. The deep red of her short, neatly-kept hair swirls with streaks of white. She had grown older, that much was certain...And yet, she remained the very same woman who hushed her crying as a mewling kitten separated from her mother. Who cleaned and bandaged her scrapes, who wandered the woods searching for whatever tree she had decided to take a nap in. Who was there as she grew into a woman, taught her all of what that entails, even through the dire backdrop of Dalamud’s fall. And now, she would be leaving that woman…

It was not as if the thought had not crossed Sahri’s mind. What else marked the beginning of one’s adult life? And yet, the weight of what that truly entails collapses upon her all at once. In her twenty-one summers, she had never been apart from Lukah for much more than a week at a time, but now...When will she next be awoken by the sound of Lukah’s early-morning humming? Spend the night cooking dinner together with her? Bid her goodnight before contentedly curling up in her bedsheets? She could not know...Running her thumb over the ring’s cool metal, a flow of tears bursts forth from Sahri’s eyes. Unable to choke back a sob, she buries her face into Lukah’s robes, arms clutching her back tightly.

“I…” She sniffles, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “I will miss you, terribly…” 

Lukah’s arms pull her into a firm hold, and Sahri feels a kiss placed atop her head.

“Oh, and I you, darling,” the woman tells her. “And I you. More than I could ever express. You have been my truest font of happiness, these last two decades of my life. I love you as my own daughter. You know that.”

“M-Mother…” Sahri whimpers, still sniffling. 

She did know. Oh, she did know. And she loved Lukah as her own mother, in turn. Perhaps they shared no blood, but the woman was her mother in truth, rearing her with patience, grace, kindness. _You are the reason I never felt alone_ , Sahri wants to tell her, but her words become stuck in her throat. Instead, it is Lukah who initiates their next interaction, tilting up Sahri’s head to look upon her. There is a slight poof in her eyes, a drying trail of a tear down her cheek. 

“I am proud of you, Sahri, truly proud of the woman you have grown to be. Though we may feel sorrow now, I know you will only make me prouder. You will ever be on my mind, and no matter what may happen, you can come home to me. Not a single circumstance could keep me from welcoming you. When you look at this ring, remember that for me. And, perhaps, think of the warmth of Rijuh’s love...”

Sahri nods her head repeatedly, fervently, wiping tears from her face. She gives the woman--she gives her mother the brightest smile she can manage.

“I will wear it proudly. Thank you, Mother.” 

“You are most welcome, little moon.” Lukah pulls back from the hug, rubbing Sahri’s back. “There is so much more I wish to say to you...but I believe that is best saved for when we have started dyeing this old robe. With so much material, we will be up well into the night as it is.”

“Ah...Yes, we will be,” Sahri relaizes. She straightens her posture, taking a breath and gathering herself after that...emotional gauntlet. 

“I know something that might lift your spirits,” Lukah tells her, smiling slyly. “I may have told you a slight fib earlier. There was something I procured in Gridania which hails from Wineport...Not wine itself, but a delightful snack…”

Sahri’s eyes go wide in excitement. “You didn’t--La Noscean grapes?”

When Lukah nods, the girl grins, earning a hearty laugh. Sahri scurries towards the dwelling’s front entrance, allowing herself to be a child for just a few moments longer...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will be one more chapter for the night after the game starts, which I'll get to work on pretty soon--I decided I was going to NG+ alongside writing these fics, and oh boy even rewatching the first few scenes has given me a lot of ideas, so I'm looking forward to it.


End file.
